The Jester's Court
by Joker88
Summary: The Joker adopts a boy. So far just a one-shot, I have two more updates planned out. Um... read and review?
1. Chapter 1

Snap

_**Well, I'm BACK!! Typing up Joker stories seems to calm me, yes I admit that is a little strange, but hey! What are you gonna do? This is very slow, After all I just got back to writing. I think theres going to be three chappies for this, it has no beta yet... **  
_

_Snap._

I ignore the sound as I scratch another minuscule 'h' into the wall. The plaster is pitted with my handiwork I'm stretch into the farthest extent I can manage with my foot bolted to the floor. The skin on my ankle is red and blistered from the chafe of cold metal.

_Snap._

He's trying to get a reaction. It's like a silent struggle of wills between us. He knows that if he asks me to look up. I would, but he's just playing one of his little mind games, one of many.

_Snap_

I've finished the 'A' I start on a 'P'. The dull monotony of my work lulls my mind. The cracked dirty wall in front of me disappears to be replaced by a flickering image. A woman is on a swing set, smiling and laughing. The sun shines on her flaming hair and brilliantly white teeth. She's slightly chubby, but it suits her. Dry grass stretches behind her, a fence in the background with little kids playing soccer in the distance.

I hold onto that image, burning it into my mind.

_Snap._

It's slow, meant to shake me out of my reverie. I realize I have stopped scratching at the caulk. I start again, drawing the lines slowly, pressing upon the knife. I feel a light touch on my leg and I look down. One of my kittens is staring up at me with soulful eyes. I reach down to pick it up by the scruff of it's neck. It's King, my favorite out of the four. He growls and bites my finger, chewing on the tender flesh. Carefully, I pry his little jaws away from the digit and run a hand down his back. king blinks lazily at me and starts to purr. Cats are such fickle creatures, like Mr. J. One would wonder why he didn't like them more.

_Snap_.

This time the noise was sharp, impatient, and angry. Mr. J was not a man who liked to lose. I turned, King still cradled in my palm. Mr. J didn't look up from where he was playing solitaire with his grimy cards, but his face held that smugness which came from winning a game which only he knew about.

I turned back to the wall and started on the next happy. I got to the second Y before he talked.

"How are we feeling today, little lion tamer?" he giggled and laid another card down.

_Snap._

"Happy." I intone, my voice expressionless.

_Happy, happy, joy, joy. Happy._

"I'm glad you've found a way to keep yourself entertained." I knew that by now he was leaning back in his chair, studying one of his knives.

"I'm not so sure about the use of the knife I gave you. You're blunting a very delicate instrument."

I stopped scratching at the plaster and laid the knife on the table next to me. I stood staring at my wall.

The word 'happy' scratched everywhere, tiny chicken scrawl. I had never learned to read or write, but once I remember seeing the letters on a billboard and asking what it meant. And I can remember thinking, happy, happy, happy. Sounding the word out trying to see which characters were which. The only word that I know how to spell.

Mr. J giggled, his voice knowing at my nerves, but I didn't say anything, just stood staring at my wall, not really seeing it.

_Happy, happy, happy._

"Long have you been here little lion tamer?"

"Two weeks." My voice cracks from disuse. It seems like two years. King stretches in my palm, his tail winding around my thumb. I curl my fingers protectively around him.

Silence in the room, not even the snap of a card onto the grungy table. I resisted the urge to look at Mr. J.

A knife thudded next to my head, King gave a little start, and after assuring himself that nothing had hit him, he went back to cleaning his haunches. I gave no reaction; Mr. J must have his little jokes.

Silence, I turn my head slowly. Mr. J is studying another knife, scratching a bit of imaginary dirt from the hilt. I watch him. Studying every feature. I turned back to my wall.

Another knife landed right below my hip, pinning my lab coat to the wall, my body jerked towards the wall as the blade nailed be to it. I didn't look around. Instead I brought King closer to my bare chest.

Mr J. wasn't the best at finding clothes; he brought whatever he could find, mostly off dead bodies. I had tan dress pants clinched tight around my decimated waste, a doctor's coat hung from my shoulders to the floor, a big red stain on the left side of my chest. I lent away from it. Trying not to let it touch my skin.

I was so cold, colder than I had ever been before, and not just the temperature. My body was numb, unfeeling. I drew King closer to my frozen chest and something seemed to thaw. I could breathe a little easier.

I turned my head again. Mr. J was balancing the tip of his knife on his index finger, keeping it vertical.

His face was still something that didn't happen very often.

His make-up was smeared, the black, red and white running into each other, creating little pinwheels of color on his cheeks.

Mr. J was always happy, happy when he was angry, happy when he was surprised. Happy when he was in pain.

I watched dispassionately as Mr. J flicked the knife up and caught it by the blade, all in one fluid movement he threw it, still staring at the columns of cards before him. I watched it flip in the air, hilt blade, hilt, blade, spinning cart wheeling over and over as it headed straight for my chest.

Don't run, let it hit you, let it come. Die. Die. Die.

_happy_

I sidestepped and tripped over my shackle. My head hit the floor and little spots of color flared up around me.

There was a dull _thunk_ and a soft trembling note as the knife quivered in the plaster.

King was still in my grasp and he gave an annoyed mew. Clawing my wrists he hissed at me and stalked away, his head and tail held high

I looked to Mr. J. He had an apple in one hand and was contemplating it. His feet were on his desk, scattering the game of solitaire he had been playing. I stood up and dusted my filthy jacket off, watching the powder bloom. Me and Mr. J both knew that he wasn't really trying to kill me. Just playing another head game.

_Happy happy happy_

I watched him take a bite of his apple and glance out the window, his mind on other things, despite the fact that he had just chucked a knife at me. I sighed and picked up one of the fallen cards, a nine of spades. The little spade looked like a spear point.

I tucked the card into the breast pocket of my white coat. I stood, ignoring the throb in my ankle and retrieved the knives that had been thrown at me. It took me a while, the blades were buried deep and I had to work to get them out.

Chunks of plaster came with them, and my bare toes tickled and stung from the white powder that showered down on them. I looked sadly at the wall that I had devoted so much time to. Great lumps were gone, the carefully spaced words ruined. For the first time in three days I felt like crying. But I held the urge in check, Mr J would not like it if I cried. Mr J would not be very _happy._

I stared at the knives in my hands. All of them were a different shape but each had the same little Joker symbol engraved onto the blade. I stared so hard it made my eyes hurt. When Mr. J first gave me a knife, he probably expected me to slit my wrist or go for his heart. But I sat back and scratched words onto his wall.

He didn't have a TV. Or a radio, or a telephone. He had books. Very few. A medical book, with some precise diagrams, the cover was speckled with blood, singed and the first half had water damage. The second was a children's story, all the pages ripped out leaving only the hard cover. And last was a plain, unmarked notebook. The spiral was bent and smeared with white make-up. I had never seen the Joker use it, but then again, I had never even seen Mr. J sleep.

King sauntered over to Mr. J's chair and mewed up at him. I wanted to scream out to the little animal, wanted to warn it. Wanted to save it.

King leapt onto Mr. J's lap. I gave an involuntary little shudder. King was past saving. I resigned myself to the little cat's fate.

I turned my head to the wall. I couldn't watch him do it. I couldn't see the life leave that little figure. There was no sound, perhaps the Joker had done it quickly? Not like him. I stared at the little symbols I had chiseled into the grimy plaster.

_Happy, happy, happy._

It was easy to pretend that nothing was wrong when I was writing the words. It was easy to forget that I was chained to a wall.

Queenie nuzzled my ear. I suppose she'd be my favorite now.

"Curiosity killed the cat."

Mr. J was always one for a joke. I felt a tear trickle down to my temple. My hand tightened on the knives I held.

A noise filled the room.

Purring.

I whipped my head around. King was on Mr. J's knee. I let out a surprised hiccup, it was just another head game.

Mr. J absentmindedly scratched King on the scruff of the neck. I tensed. With one easy movement he could snap my little kitten's neck.

"Satisfaction brought it back."

Mr. J discarded the apple core and settled back into his chair. He picked at his teeth and looked out the window. There was nothing outside, only a brick wall, crumbling and dirty. But he looked as if there was something fascinating going on.

The apple core rolled picking up dust and flecks of plaster as it went. It hit my foot. There was still a lot of meat on it. I grabbed it and began to pick out the seeds, keeping one eye on the man in the chair.

"You're a funny child." His lips stretched over his teeth as he talked, creating little creases in his make up, "That's what they called _me_. The funny child."

I stared at the knives in my palms, such small, deadly things. Such power hung over them.

"I wonder if I made them laugh. I wasn't really the kind of class _clown_ you get these days." Mr. J was staring at his palms turning them to catch the light, mesmerized by his own skin. "Now, batsy on the other hand, you can tell he was the biggest kid on the block, loudmouth, attention grabber. Me, I was always in the back of the glass pulling on pigtails. Only people got _hurt_ in my corner. But I never got caught."

Once, I had pitied Mr. J. I thought that destruction was he knew, all he had ever experienced. I learned that lesson fairly quickly. Mr J was strange simply because he wanted to be, because it amused him.

"And then one day I realized that there was no need to put the blame on anyone else, there was no method to madness."

He stared at me, his voice climbing, coming faster, trying to get some message across. My fingers curled over the blades, drawing some blood.

"You always have to stay one step ahead, play the little games with people who can do something but won't. It wears on you. It makes little holes in your mind." He tapped his head.

"These fools, they rebuild this shattered city, gluing the little pieces together, try to make it more resilient, and it works for a while, but it's so much more fun to break."

I threw the knife. It tumbled haphazardly through the air, going wide. It was a terrible throw, but in my starved, weakened state, I was no master and I had never thrown a knife before.

"Oh, that was naughty." Mr. J retrieved the knife from the other side of the room, moving so fast that his abandoned chair rocked, and more cards fluttered to the ground. "But what an improvement, Just remember to keep your wrist straight, it keeps the knife from curving, see?" He whipped the the knives from me and threw one. It hit the chair, burying itself into the cross where the two back panels met. The chair lurched forward into the table. I watched it blankly.

Mr. J leant forward. "We can't have you doing that again now, can we?"

Pulling out an extremely long knife, he slammed my hand into the wall. The bones in my arm shook and I cried out involuntarily.

"Trouble is, funny kids are always the last ones to see the joke."

He slammed point into my palm and through the wall. I let out an earsplitting scream. Mr. J winced at the noise and pulled the knife out again, this time reaching for my ther had. I resisted this time, worming away from him, trying to crawl to the door.

Needless to say, I didn't get very far. Mr. J swung me around, and I started screaming again, even before the blade and gone through my flesh.

But soon the pain came again, and I was left to spiral into darkness, alone. My mind spinning.

_So yeah, I know horrible, the Joker was OOC and My character was unrealistic and my ideas didn't flow... Well, just whatever, There's going to be at least two more chapters for this as it's combining three or five ideas._

_Review and I might write some more this week. The funny thing is that this story is sixteen pages long and you'll only see five of that. Hehe anyway, onto my monologue of being reviewed:_

_The amateur writer glanced down at her email box, she sighed, no emails waiting. Gloomy and depressed she stared out her window, looking into the rain. It was a dreary world, in the gray light of early morning the shadows bleached color out of her room and the garden outside. It was all so depressing, so boring. She would go mad in such a world. Her brother was on the opposite side of the house, perhaps she could go and smother him with a pillow? _

_Or just hold the pillow over his face so no one could hear his screams as she bashed his face in with her book, 'Lord of the Flies'. _

_She carefully turned her head, not directly looking at her computer screen, instead she glared at it sideways, willing it to show an email. _

_So when it did pop up a box showing the fact that she had in fact been reviewed, she nearly threw herself at the mouse. Trembling she clicked the little icon and opened her inbox. A bold heading read out on her screen, she clicked it._

_'_**nice!, I liked it! OMG! Joker rules!'**

_The writer stared at the screen before bursting into tears. It was the single most beautiful thing she had ever read. She felt so... honored. And suddenly the sun came up, drying the rain, and a golden shine eliminated the computer screen casting a halo around the review. Perhaps the new day would not be so bad after all._


	2. Chapter 2

_**OKAY... This chapter is horrible, but I'm realllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllly tired. So deal with it. I'll change it in the morning... YEAH so, bye? Okay I wrote that two days ago, before i realized how much this really sucks, I mean all the village children should light it on fire and beat it with sticks.**_

My brain was vibrating, that's what it felt like just a shaking wobbling movement. It stopped.

"Rise and shine little lion tamer, We've got a long day ahead of us."

And _then _the pain came. It was bearable, but only just. I opened my gummy eyes and stared at the back of my captor. Mr. J was stomping around the room, putting the knives and cards into his purple pockets. Without turning around he spoke again. "Well,_ I _have a long day, we'll just see how long you can go without being...cut short."

I stood up clumsily, trying not to use my hands. Mr. J had gone right through the bones in each one. You could kind of see the white splinters if you pulled the flesh apart.

The woulds were covered with long strips that I had torn off of my doctors coat with my teeth.

I felt the room tip around me, the floor suddenly became vertical.

"Oh, don't do _that_." I felt a strong rough hand grip me by my bicep and haul me to my feet. "You are really being quite silly."

The hand released me. I stared uncomprehendingly up at Mr. J. He held something up to the light and I squinted at it. "I upgraded you!" The Joker giggled and handed me a small box, with two buttons on it. I stared at him.

He was smiling at me, really smiling.

I clicked the first button. My head nearly exploded, I gagged clutching at my throat. Mr. J swept the box from me and rubbed a finger over it as he stared at me with a fresh layer of make-up.

My fingers met metal. A steel band enclosing my neck. The pain left me on the floor, gasping and crying.

"I put a dog collar on a lion tamer!" Mr. J giggled again, his face twitching.

I tugged at the electric collar, all I succeeded in doing was irritating the already tender skin. Mr. J had already turned around.

"I have some meetings today, and I can't have you running around." He paused and turned to face me, his face alight with sadistic glee. "Bring your little meows, we wouldn't want you getting lonely."

I glanced over at the pile of fur that were my for kittens. They had all made it to morning, but they would need food soon. I grasped my head in one bloody hand, wincing as pain shot from both.

I bent slowly, trying not to agitate my headache and slipped my arm into the basket of kittens. I stopped and looked down at my feet. The shackle was gone, my ankle was swollen, little white and blue streaks showed up vividly against the red skin. It was quite pretty, I stared at it fascinated. All the colors melted into each other...

"We're late." Mr. J said, watching me with interest.

I pulled my self together and walked out the door and stood waiting for him in the hallway. It was very much like the apartment, cheap, dirty and a dirty white color, with a green band running though the sides. It smelled like decaying food and air freshener.

Mr. J came up behind me. "Come on little lion tamer, We got places to go." He walked on, and I tailed him, pulling my white coat closer to my body as we moved through the drafty building.

We got to an elevator that opened and we stepped inside. I wanted to stay as close as I could to the Joker in case he blew up whatever space I was occupying at the time. The basket of kittens started to move around.

They mewed pathetically, kneading each other as they called for food. It was the only sound in the elevator, even the annoyingly repetitive elevator music was off. Mr. J twiddled his fingers his head bowed. He had put a long brown trench coat over his purple suit. I started counting the floors, I couldn't wait to get out of the confined space. Nobody should ever get that close to Mr. J.

_Five...four...three...two...lobby._

With a sickly smile the Joker swept a hand around with a bow.

I stepped forward nervously, keeping away from Mr. J's line of sight. It was never a good idea to your back on Mr. J.

He merely laughed at my nervousness and strode out the doors.

I hurried after him, bumping my basket of kittens against my leg as I tried to catch up.

The streets of Gotham were empty, only a few stragglers were still out in the oncoming twilight. And they quickly hurried away from the sight of a boy in a bloodstained doctors coat. I reveled in the fresh, cold air. Every breath that I took in the apartment had felt stale, out here, is was smelly, dry, but refreshing all the same.

I ran, trying to keep my kittens from jumping out of the basket. Mr. J walked in quick, uneven strides. It was exhausting, speeding up and slowing down to keep up with him.

I could feel myself get tired quickly. But I didn't slow, couldn't. Fear, hunger, desperation, and... something else entirely kept me going.

I seemed like days of walking past the same beaten, suspicious, gloomy people before we got to our destination. Gotham was a ghost town.

Mr. J killed a loiterer who stood by a thick set of double doors. I shivered in the cold air and jumped out of the way of the unfortunate who had been caught. His blood got against my toes and I felt nauseous. I can't deal really well with other people's blood.

The Joker pulled open one door and beckoned me inside. I stepped into the darkness, my eyes trying to adjust. I took another tentative step and felt cool metal meet my forehead.

The lights flicked on, a blaze of light into my vision. I blinked and my gaze focused on the machine gun pressed between my eyes.

A breathy wheeze escaped my lips as the metal was withdrawn. I stood frozen, my hands half raised and my basket of fur squeezed against my chest. Mr. J slapped me on the back, hard. "Oh, did that scare you? My my, I couldn't get that sort of reaction out of you when I was throwing knives!"

We were in a warehouse. Four of Mr. J's thugs prowled around the doors, their guns held at the ready. In the middle of the area was a collection of mismatched rickety chairs and a desk with a pile of thick files on it. Mr. J sat down on a red plastic swivel chair. And leaned back. I stared at him, he looked utterly relaxed, at home in this wide cold cavernous space. It was creepy, shadows swarmed on the walls, held still by the stationary lamp that hung low over the lonely desk.

I started over to one of the chairs, but with his eyes closed Mr. J shook his head. "Cats belong on the floor, little lion tamer. And you haven't been good."

I switched directions instantly and put my back up against the desk. I settled the kittens next to me. Where they stretched and strolled out of the basket as if they hadn't mewed all the way to the warehouse.

I stretched my legs out, reveling in the free movement and the feel of wood against my back. I closed my eyes and relaxed. I felt like I could breathe again. After the stuffy air in the apartment anything was a freedom.

"She's late." Mr. J remarked, tapping his toes against the concrete floors.

Clubs batted my hand and I twiddled my fingers at him. He gave them a vicious bite. I yelped and sucked on my fingers, glaring at Clubs who then began to growl at me.

My kittens were hungry. Scratch that, I was hungry. I stuck up a hand, feeling foolish. Mr. J opened an eyelid and raised one of his painted eyebrows.

"F-food?"

He closed his eyes again and was quiet. I frowned, disappointed but not entirely surprised. What caught me off guard was the shout that came from the motionless body. "Get some food here!"

I jumped, nearly squashing Queenie who was leaning against my hips. I clumsily scratched her behind the ears, I still couldn't move my fingers, I don't think I ever will again.

Thinking of them I tore at the knot of fabric. I winced as the cloth squeezed my hand, grinding the shattered bones together. I wriggled the bloodstained material came away, tearing at the wound. I stared at it. It was a horrible purple color at the edges, little bits of white plaster and splinters of bone were powdered across the surface.

The middle was a horrible gooey sticky mass of pulped flesh and drying blood. Three fingers were curled inward, my little finger stuck straight out, and try as I might I couldn't get them to move without horrible pangs of pain. Delicately I licked the edges of the injury. Whimpering as the pain from my efforts hit. I spat out the blood and paster that met my tongue.

Queenie was in front of me, cleaning her paws, and It was a mirror image of what I was doing. I closed my eyes and continued what I was doing. My spit would clean the cut. Even as it stung and smarted I realized I was becoming an animal. The Joker was making me one. I looked at him. Sure enough he had that smirk on his face. I felt raw rage well up in my gut, and I nearly attacked him. But his finger was tapping that little remote. I brushed my arm against the band around my throat, remembering the pain.

The door opened again and I saw a blue uniform walk in. I wanted to shout a warning, but I couldn't get my mouth to move. But it seems my warning was unneeded. The officer walked directly to the Joker and stood about ten paces away. Upright, commanding, confident.

I stared at the vision, unable to comprehend what was going on. Was I being rescued? Was the Joker going to be put behind soft walls?

"Ah, Officer, So nice of you to join us." Mr. J looked up slowly, his face stretching into a dangerous smile.

"They know you're here." The policewoman wasted no time. "They're raiding next week and people are losing confidence in Gordon, It's a goo-" She trailed off, finally catching sight of me. He face came into the light. And I nearly screamed. It was horrific. Puckered, shiny skin criss-crossed her face, splitting her lips in odd places. You could see her teeth in places, her hairline and eyebrows had gaps in them where hair had been hindered by scar tissue. The eyes were intact, but barely, and she had the Joker's smile.

I stared emptily up at her, trying to see her face a it must have been before... just before.

She had been beautiful, Spanish decent, dark brown hair almost red. Full wide lips and sharp light green eyes, Striking features. But marred, horribly disfigured, and it didn't take a genius to figure out who had done it.

"What is he doing here?"

"The little lion tamer? He's mine, don't worry he's fixed." He giggled as she took a step away from me.

"This is no place for a child." She said uncertainly still staring at me.

"At what age does he stop being a child?"

She looked at him blankly.

"Forget it. He amuses me. I'll remove him later." The Joker pulled out a knife and looked at me speculatively.

"There is no need. Send him to an orphanage, they will think him mad. If he isn't mad already."

"So sentimental all of a sudden!" The Joker rested his head on a hand, further smearing his make-up. "Oh... I see. How is your son?"

She stiffened, her eyes grew cold.

"Fine."

"Glad to hear it."

She ignored me for the rest of the interview, ending with an indifferent stare at my corner. My food arrived and I hungrily devoured a chocolate bar and a piece of fried chicken. The other piece went to my kittens who picked at the meat. I admit, it was deep fried until the grease dripped down my fingers, but hey, it was food.

I ate what the kittens left.

I'd finished just as the officer nodded at the Joker and began to go back to the doors.

I stood up, clumsily scooping King with me. He growled but offered no resistance as I hurried after the policewoman.

I caught up to her and she turned around with a spin as she felt a hand on her shoulder.

I shoved King at her. "Please. He's for your son." My voice was deep, rough from days without food or water. She hesitated, her eyes wide. "I can't let him stay here, not with the Joker. Please, just take him."

Hesitantly she clasped her long fingers into King's dark fur..

"For my son..." She murmured, her eyes far off.

"Please." I asked again desperately watching her handle my kitten. I missed him already.

I gasped as the collar around my neck buzzed, sending electricity through my veins. I could smell my own burning flesh. My eyes fluttered and I felt faint.

The officer's eyes widened, quickly taking in the collar. "Tread carefully boy, the Joker isn't likely to keep you long. I'd suggest running, go to the country, get as far away from this city as you can."

I nodded and ran back to Mr. J, my eyes nearly bursting from my head in the terrible heat and collar. I collapsed next to the desk again and I lay gasping on the cool cement.

_**Yeah. It's horrible... I'm not kidding... WRAGGG!! BRING OUT THE TORCHES AND STICKS!! Oh, shit, I have to go now...**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**I dedicate this chapter to Margaret Flora. I'm sorry you couldn't wait.**_

* * *

I stared numbly at the darkness ahead of me. I was seeing little lights in the black shadows, little dancing fairies. You know why they call them fairies? Because they're fair.

That's what my nurse told me anyways. I can't remember what she looks like. I can't even remember what my mother looked like.

Wait, there was dark skin, darker than mine, and wide lips, too wide to be pretty, but the charm and good nature that shone through her face made up for it's imperfections.

Tall, too tall to be beautiful, and yet she attracted lusty glances on the street. I think.

Why can't I remember?

But there's that woman on the swing set, beckoning with one hand. And she's happy. My mother was never happy, you can sense that sort of thing when you're a child.

The red haired woman on a swing. Laughing.

And my mother talking, she was talking about something in a black cocktail dress, an exotic drink in one hand, she's laughing and smiling, but for some reason she's told me to hide in the closet.

Wait, that's something, I can remember that.

Hide in the closet like a five year old.

I can smell the musty dust now.

And there's indistinct chatter outside. I have it, there's something, they're talking about farms...

I couldn't feel my arms anymore, all feeling was ebbing away in tides of tight pressure.

No pain.

Finally no pain.

Finally nothing.

Emptiness like the darkness ahead of me, yawning, swallowing me. Falling endlessly in my mind. I wanted to beat the walls the floor but there was nothing to feel, to touch, to cling to in my bottomless fear.

Fear, I still had fear, it was like a smell, sour yet sickly sweet, clinging to everything, everywhere, except on one man.

He absorbed the darkness, it clung to the greasy creases on his face, disappearing into his eyes. He was swallowing the emptiness into himself.

_What was Mr. J afraid of?_

I'm afraid of the wearing force of the tides, the emptiness that comes from time's slow trudge.

But time no longer seemed to matter. All there was was that deep well of black and the man sitting in it, waiting for his next victim.

His next villain.

Clubs was settled on my lap, his sharp little claws working busily on the soft fish white skin on my belly.

It hurt, but it was ticklish also.

Pain.

Laughter.

* * *

Away, away, away. Free. Running down the streets of Gotham, my shaggy hair flying behind me as I half ran half tripped up to the police station.

I leaded against the door, my slight weight indented the bar just enough to let me stumble into the overheated room.

The area smelled like stale cigarette and piss.

I shuddered in the sudden change of temperature. I had been so cold for so long...

I felt sick.

The TV above my head began to run, little images flashing across the screen silently. I could feel the blood rushing out of the knife wound and my ands, seeping across the floor in a brilliant crimson puddle against the pale tiles.

My mother was on the TV screen, her face brightened considerably happier than I had ever seen her. There were words around the picture, but I couldn't focus on them, the blurred and convulsed under my gaze.

Now there was a picture of me on the screen. I was considerably younger, my hair cut short and clean. I was scowling at whoever had taken the picture. My clothes were well pressed and looked expensive.

Oh what I wouldn't do for a clean shirt. I'd even go for my grandfather's coat now. A musty ill fitting-

Grandfather... I had a grandfather. Was he alive? Where did I live?

My mind shut down the memories at once. I let out my breath in a hiss of frustration.

Then I became aware of shouting and I looked around in surprise.

Four police officers were out in the hallway, their guns out and all four weapons were pointed at me. They were all screaming at me. I frowned at them and reached out a hand to swipe their guns away from where they were pointing at my chest. What were they doing...?

Their cries became more frantic. What were they saying? My head was pounding I couldn't understand...

I stumbled into a wall and my hand left a long red smear. I stopped and stared, my palm was swollen so the holes that Mr. J had gouged into my skin was completely closed with slimy tattered skin.

I wish he hadn't used the serrated blades.

He named his knives. I wonder if cops named their guns the way _he_ named his little sharp pets.

The voices cut into my thoughts. I frowned, my brain was beating against my eyes, I just wanted to sleep...

_"Jesus, Is the Joker here?" "What's wrong with him?" "Backup, we need backup now!" "Fuckin' hell, what's wrong with his hands?" "No, It's definitely him, get someone down here now!" "What do we do?"_

_"What the fuck do you think we should do? We're supposed to chase them, they're not supposed to come to us."_

I sank to my knees, one hand pressed to the wall. The pain felt good, it cleared my head a little. It was something to latch onto, something real... I think. What was real? Was I real? Were the walls to which I was so desperately clinging, were they real? No nothing could be... Nothing was here. It was a void.

My head was spinning. The police were still pointing their guns at me. My mum, she didn't like guns.

Never liked guns.

Mr. J never liked guns either.

So much in common.

My hands hurt.

My face felt wet. I reached up and felt my cheeks with one club like hand, stiffened with pain and dried blood. There was wetness on my skin. I was crying.

And I realized that I was nothing without Mr. J.

Because Mr. J is the only real thing in this world. These fat, lazy men running around me, afraid to touch me. These men were the reason Mr. J existed.

I crawled pathetically to my feet and the room went silent. For once I could think.

"My mother, where is she?" It was shaky, brittle, and ragged but my voice was there.

There were a few whispers from the blue blurs. A hand came towards me, I pulled it towards myself and twisted it. There was a harsh squeal of pain and A man was kneeling in front of me, his head bent backwards as my knee dug into the small of his back.

I blinked slowly. It was all so fast. The bones in my hand were grinding together and my fingers wouldn't move but I could manage to hold the position for a while.

"Where's my mother?' I asked again, though a little hoarse it was a little stronger.

"You killed her."

I focused on the new source of sound. I squinted at the man. He was old, old enough to be my grandfather.

"No." I was with the Joker. I didn't kill my mother did I? I couldn't have... Could I?

Something hit the back of my neck. I turned around. A young cop was standing there, looking at me in amazement, a black stick gripped firmly in his left hand.

My head was pounding again.

_Skip ahead two hours_

* * *

I stared blankly at the water, my mind numb. I wasn't thinking anymore, there were no thoughts only rage and the instinct for survival. I wanted to jump it. I wanted to let my legs slide forward off the beam, wanted to feel the air against my face, the rushing freedom before being subjected to the water's icy cage. My last decision would be my only free one.

My mother, she was always telling me what to do, pulling me away from the things I wanted to do, talking me into things until I had no idea what my first choice was. Brainwashing. Since when had life become so sickeningly complex. She was gone, the Joker was gone and I was hanging, the last leaf on a branch wavering in the slight breeze, uncertain, cautious.

My doctors coat flapped around me, there were some more cops behind me talking slowly, I ignored them as I stared across the stretch of water to Gotham's lights. You could tell the Narrows from the uptown area by the number of people on the streets. They all were so small from the bridge, little insects that could be flicked with a twitch of the finger.

The water was choppy, the number of bodies that were pulled out of the murky green water was atrocious. I briefly wondered what would happen if they just left all the debtors and suicides rot in peace. Well, the river would fill up, dead bodies piling until there would be no need for a bridge and the cars just drove across the decaying flesh.

I giggled at the image. The cops were becoming more frantic, I turned to look back. A cop, a man, was leaning out towards me, firmly grasping one of the suspension bolts he beckoned with two fingers. There was such pleading hope in his eyes. Hope that would be crushed later, ground into dust and destroyed. Damn him.

I wonder if he knew that I had killed a cop today, a man who I didn't know, who didn't deserve his death. It wasn't my fault, he was in my way, he was going to hit me.

_He said I killed my mother._

I opened my ears to listen what they were saying the whispers in the background.

_**"Jesus I wish the kid would just jump so we could all go home."**_

_**"Well then Barry said that his **_boss**_ was the one in the..."_**

_**"Hahahaha"**_

_**"...tired, I swear one more call and I'll..."**_

_**"Thanks for the coffee, it's freezing out here. God Dammit I hate suicides, once there was this five year old who found his father's gun..."**_

_**"Yes, but would you splatter when you hit the water?"**_

That was interesting... Would you splatter? There had to be some damage, after all you hit the water with quite some force. Maybe a broken nose? Would that hurt? What if I didn't die right away? I'd be suffocating on water and blood for three minutes.

Hell, what other options did I have? No money to buy downers or a gun, hanging was just another form of strangulation.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. I was supposed to go to the country, get away from the bright lights and crazy people. I'd work on a farm somewhere, maybe with horses. Maybe I'd grow corn or lettuce. I wouldn't have to worry about camera's or prying eyes.

I wouldn't have to think, just work until my bones gave out and I would sit in my log cabin and read stories to my children.

I wouldn't be the president's son who jumped off the Stratton Bridge in West Gotham. I wouldn't be the infamous boy who killed his own mother and joined the Joker in a blood stained Doctor's coat.

Hehe, wonder what crazy name they had given me, the Intern, Doctor's boy.

I was too young to deal with this. All this shit belonged to someone else, someone who could handle it, who was stronger, faster, braver.

Smarter.

I used to flatter myself that I was intelligent. How little did I know myself then. Maybe that's what the Joker does, he strips away the little lies you lay around your imperfections till you see yourself for what you are. I wished I had told my mother I had loved her, which is rather weird as I don't.

She must have cared for me though.

She was brave, intelligent, just not very strong.

It was too late to go back now. I couldn't reach out and snag that officer's fingers. I couldn't go back to the Joker.

Could I?

I pulled at the collar around my neck, the tender skin on my throat burned with chafe.

A dog collar on a lion tamer.

Except I wasn't a lion tamer.

I wasn't some dramatic figure that would go down in history or that people would write about in books.

I was an average boy

With more blood on myself than was really necessary.

I wanted my mother to come and tell me what to do, where I should go. To tell me that I was making the wrong choice, to say the words that I had heard for more times than I could count.

But I was alone.

Forever.

There were some screams behind me. I tuned to look again, just to distract myself. The cop was reaching out again, desperately, he was afraid, panicked.

I smiled at him and reached out a hand. He grabbed it, a whimper of relief escaping his lips. I tugged my hand free again and jumped to the next support. The officer looked down at what I had left in his palm, a folded piece of paper. He handed impatiently to another officer and climbed down back onto the bridge, only to appear a moment later on my new perch.

The cries were becoming louder and now I could see why, Mr. J was swinging along the supports, tap dancing on the struts. He didn't seem to know or care that death hung below him with a drop and above him in the form of twenty trained guns.

I laughed again, silly Mr. J.

They were going to shoot him any moment now.

An explosion rocked the bridge. I escaped the impact as my strut was on the concrete support underneath the bridge. The cop who had hung to the suspension was shaken off his feet, he hung below me screaming, just like the people on the bridge. Mr. J reached us and stopped, panting. His dark eyes were lit with excitement.

He stepped onto my strut and without glancing down ground his heel into the helpful cops hand. I laughed again as the cops scream echoed downward. His plummet to the water slowed as he hit the concrete column again and again, leaving little streaks of red as his skin and hair was rubbed off by the downward friction of his fall.

I had the sudden urge to wave to him.

So I did.

The Joker settled beside me, his purple jacket flapped in the wind. He sighed and patted my shoulder consolingly.

"'Gonna take a dive?"

I nodded glumly.

"Nice night for it."

It was indeed beautiful, a slight breeze ruffled my hair and Gotham's lights were reflected off the sky and water. It was it's own constellation.

We sat in companionable silence.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Mr. J dug through his pockets producing three kittens, Clubs, Queenie and Jack. They hissed and kicked at Mr. J as he handed them over distastefully.

I put jack into the breast pocket of my doctor's coat.

Queenie and clubs lay flat along the strut.

"I remember when I came here, a long time ago."

I looked at Mr. J curiously. He caught the look and shrugged. "I was dangling my father over the other side."

He frowned. "Or was it someone else's father? It's so hard to tell these days."

I nodded and traced a pattern onto Queenie's back with a forefinger. My head still hurt, but it helped when I heard Mr. J talk.

"Of course, There wasn't such a wonderful view back then."

I nodded mutely. Mr. J was staring out at the city, his eyes were bright, reflecting the multicolored lights that shone from the city.

"This city... It's so beautiful in the fall."

I stood up and pulled Jack out of my pocket where he had warmed my heart. I held him out to Mr. J who took him absentmindedly.

"You can't get air like this out in the country." He inhaled deeply. I followed his lead. My last sniff.

The sweet stench of roasting nuts invaded my mind, the sharp, slightly acidic sent of the river came next along with the heady smell of gasoline and smoke. Something in Gotham was always on fire.

The musty dry smell of old leather and stale make-up came from Mr. J.

I stepped up towards the edge.

One more step. The water below distorted the light from Gotham. Choppy little waves glowed in the darkness, an oil painting of back red and white.

I spread my arms,I felt the air push at my back, urging me forward.

How many people in the city were eating dinner? How many were doing the same thing? Perhaps finding a toaster in the dark kitchen, drawing a bath, selecting the right knife.

Writing their little pointless notes of false words.

Tying their last knot.

Kissing their husband, wife, kids for the last time. Each person across the city breathing as one. Each drying their last tear.

And then...

Pain, pressure, heat. Pressing down for only a moment

and then it was over, only to begin again with a new set of fate's fallen.

But for one breathless moment life was beautiful.

* * *

_**Maggie Flora wherever you are. Rest in peace.**_


End file.
